Vimy
by Bluejay Blaze
Summary: Once upon a time Germany encountered a nation who absolutely terrified him. It's hard to believe that the rabid demon is usually so sweet.


Vimy

He'd driven the French out multiple times. When the Brits had tried to retake it he'd driven them out too. His army was strong and he had the high ground. He had the high ground and he would hold it. They could not beat him.

Germany walked among his soldiers as they went about their duties. The fortifications at Vimy were strong and in good repair, just the way he liked things. They had recently taken over the British tunnels and mines created to hinder their efforts, so Germany was in a good mood.

A messenger ran up to him, panting. The lad was filthy and exhausted; he must have been a scout from outside the compound. Germany waited for the boy to catch his breath before he said a word.

"Report?"

"Herr Germany, we've seen suspicious movement among the Allied Forces. It seems like they are training for a new attack on the ridge."

Germany almost laughed. There was no way the Allies would take back Vimy from him! The strategy he'd worked out against the British and the French was perfect! Still, he supposed he should keep on top of this development, non-existent as he believed the threat to be.

"Which dummkopf are they sending in this time?"

"A new force, Herr Germany. I've never seen them before. They're from somewhere called Canada."

Dismissing the messenger, Germany had to sit down. He was shocked. England and France had both been crushed when they last faced him; why would they send in their untested son? It seemed cruel. Germany had met the boy who represented Canada only once and he couldn't imagine that child as a warrior. Canada had been so quiet and sweet, making sugary treats for everyone out of tree sap and showing them around in his birch bark canoe. The boy was so innocent that he could make friends with animals just like in one of England's fairy tales! Crushing someone like that… It just wouldn't be fair.

"Maybe I can convince Canada to join me," Germany mused. "I'd rather not have to fight someone so young. His powers aren't established the way older nations' are; the shock of losing that many people might kill him. Canada is still a child."

It might work. If Germany could find the boy quickly and convince him to surrender, it might work. Canada was young and used to being ruled over by others; he would probably be glad for guidance. After all, his relationship with England was still fragile after that business with Alaska. And Germany could teach the boy how to be a real soldier, make him strong. Not that he would ever say it, but Germany wished he had a son. He was lonely sometimes; Prussia didn't make for very good company and Italy… was Italy.

For quite some time Germany had his scouts keep an eye on the Canadian training regimen. Occasionally a spy or deserter brought some information as well, but it was rather unhelpful. The Canadians were doing some very odd things. One spy told Germany that the Canadian forces seemed to be ignoring the chain of command almost completely, telling large portions of the plan to even low ranking officers and distributing maps with abandon. Germany's organized mind and dedication to rules couldn't quite comprehend that. He could only see it as giving the enemy more opportunity to learn your movements.

Then the explosions started. Weeks of impact and bombardment in varying amounts, but constant at all times. Germany's men began to wear under stress. The ridge was filled with a constant thunderous peal of noise that made the ears ache and hands tremble. Some of the fortifications crumbled under the constant abuse and the barbed wire… it burned. Germany wondered when it would end. His men were falling ill from stress and shock, and his own nerves were wearing deadly thin.

It was cold and snowing, early in the morning, when blessed silence finally came. Germany sighed in relief when the guns stopped for the first time in weeks. But three minutes later they started again, and a shout went up from his sentries.

"Herr Germany, they're coming!"

The gunfire flickered in and out as the Canadians poured across no man's land like their beloved maple syrup. It wasn't long before they were in the trenches, fighting, dying. Germany's men were dying too. But the nation's only thought was for one of his own kind somewhere in the fray, a young man with no experience or support. For how much could the soldiers help their nation-person when their pain caused him harm?

Germany fought his way through clumps of soldiers, seeking Canada to force the lad's surrender. He knew if the boy went with him, his people would too. Then the child would be safe. The child would be his.

Screams of terror echoed around him; Germany was surprised to learn how many were from his own men. He was used to screams of pain, but he could not remember ever hearing so many of his people so full of fear. He wondered what could terrify them so. These were not the usual combat jitters. His people feared something worse, something they didn't understand.

Then he saw them. Canadian soldiers whose wounds were fatal, but who rose to fight right until the second Death claimed them. There were soldiers who should have been dead but who were still struggling to fight, soldiers who fought on even with bayonets lodged in their bodies and limbs savagely destroyed. The Canadian men seemed immune to death and pain.

Each of those dead-but-not-dead men had a wispy black aura that made Germany shudder. It reminded him of the black magic England cast. This was more powerful though, and less controlled. Whatever was causing this was made of emotion and instinct, not spells.

A bayonet struck out at Germany's chest, jarring him from his thoughts. He barely sidestepped in time. His attacker was a young man; too young, it seemed, to be fighting. He was tall, with the pinched look of someone who's grown a lot in a short space of time. But though he was thin, he was strong. There was fire in his violet eyes.

Germany had his hands full defending himself against the young man. The boy was obviously skilled. It would be a pity to waste such youth and talent. Knocking the boy's musket out of his hands, Germany shoved the lad to the ground and placed his bayonet at the boy's neck.

"Surrender and I will spare you."

The boy snarled and batted the bayonet away. His blow shot it out of Germany's hands. Pouncing, the boy tackled Germany like a wild beast and brought him to the ground, boney hands clasped around the nation's throat. That close up Germany could see the black magic pouring from the boy in uncontrolled waves. He recognized Canada now. The sweet, innocent face was twisted out of all recognition.

"Burn, burn, burn!" Canada snarled, his eyes alight. He was rabid. Germany rolled to the side and managed to dislodge the lighter, but stronger, man. Canada landed on all fours and jumped at Germany again, this time clawing at his face.

All around Germany his soldiers were dying. The pain of it made him sloppy. There were Canadian soldiers dying too, but Canada was too far gone in his battle madness to feel them. Germany had never seen anything like it. Few other nations had; just England, France, America and the Nordics. Canada was berserk.

Thin fingers ripped at Germany's skin, drawing blood. Canada had managed to tear him across the face and chest. When the younger nation's wild blows snapped his ribs and one ankle, Germany started to wonder if he was going to die there with so many of his men.

Then gloved hands came out of the snow and grabbed Canada by the shoulders. England appeared through the storm. The older nation held Canada away from Germany and spoke soothingly, though loud enough for all to hear.

"His people are retreating lad; you can stop now. We don't kill our own."

Canada visibly calmed, enough to stop acting like an animal at least. The boy stood up and pulled something out of his pocket. Before England could stop him Canada lit a match and flung it on Germany. The wounded nation cursed and beat the fire out to the sound of England's voice.

"Canada! You know better! It's not our way to kill our own kind, not like this. _Let him go_."

There was a muffled growl, then Canada turned away. Germany nodded his thanks to England. Dragging himself to his feet, the wounded nation started to limp away. Just before he was out of sight, he paused.

"I tried to find him you know. I was afraid that losing so many people, the shock would kill him. I wanted to protect him. He didn't need it though."

England sighed. "No. He's stronger than he looks. I've only seen it once before."

Germany nodded and went to follow his ragged force of retreating men. England's voice caused him to stop for a second time.

"Germany?"

"Ja?"

"Thank you… for looking out for him. I'm sorry it has to be this way."

-line break- -many years pass- -line break-

Germany was in the conference room alone when America charged in. The loud nation squealed and dove under Germany's chair. His eyes were wide with fear.

"Save me! He's gonna kill me to death!"

"America, stop fooling around. What's going on?" Germany got up and removed America from beneath his seat, holding the other nation up by his collar. America burst into tears and started to babble.

"I was in the snack room with the others and there was a giant Easter egg just sitting there and it was being ignored and gonna go bad so I ate it and it had maple syrup filling and it was really good but then it turned out that France had made it special for Canada because of some anniversary or something and now Canada's really pissed because I ate his maple egg and he's gonna beat me with his hockey stick or _burn my Whitehouse down again!_" The rant left America gasping for breath.

Germany cast a worried eye at the calendar. April ninth. The day England, France and Canada usually had a little celebration for the young North American. The day Canada became, truly became, a nation. America was in serious trouble if he'd messed that up.

"You dummkopf! Do you know what this day means to your brother?"

Just then the door banged open. Canada stalked in, but he wasn't holding a hockey stick. He wasn't even holding a lighter or a book of matches to burn the Whitehouse with. No, Canada was holding a battered but well-kept musket with a bayonet attached. He smelled of gunpowder. There was fire in his eyes and an aura of dark magic coming off him in waves.

"America… Come play with me."

Germany paled and shoved his captive towards Canada. "Sorry dummkopf, you're on your own. I can't deal with this again." The blond nation left the room as fast as he dared, taking care not to make any moves Canada might see as threatening. Before the door closed behind him he heard a very un-heroic scream.

"Dude, take me with you! He's gonna go all 1812 on my a-ahhh! Canada, I'm sorreeeeeeee!"

A few minutes later England stopped Germany in the hall. The island nation was out of breath and had a look of panic on his face.

"Have you seen-?"

"Main conference room. Good luck; Canada has his bayonet."

"Oh bollocks!" England took off running.


End file.
